


holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

by the_one_that_fell



Series: the scars that mark my body, they’re silver and gold [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Grief Sex, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: It wasn't unusual for Victors to wear black.





	

**Author's Note:**

> TW/CW: mentions of suicide, murder, and death in general, mentions of a major character death from the prequel, mentions of alcoholism, intercrural sex, handjob, mentions of possible dubcon/hurting someone on purpose (just thoughts, no actions, and the thoughts are regretted), mentions of forced prostitution (think finnick odair from thg), somewhat under-negotiated rough sex (p mild, imo), omgcp-typical alcohol consumption 
> 
> This wasn’t suppose to focus so heavily on Bitty and Ransom, but oops! Started as BittyParse grief porn, then just….grew….

In the sea of jewel-toned Capitol citizens, all writhing in colors and sparkles like insects on rot, it wasn't unusual for Victors to wear black. 

“Not this year,” Ransom had told Bitty as he held up fabric swatches. “It’s  _ your _ Victory Tour, you're the new toy. You've gotta have some flash. Maybe next year.” 

Bitty had nodded and agreed, a little jealous that Lardo was allowed to wear her customary all-black everything to this Presidential shindig. But Ransom was right - Bitty was the guest of honor and he had to be interesting, not sad. 

“You'll be designing for Nine again, right? In this year’s games?” Bitty asked as one of Ransom’s assistants took his measurements. He didn't need the woman - who had bizarre, tortoiseshell markings tattooed around her eyes and down her neck - to tell him how much thinner he'd gotten. Most Victors tended to gain weight, he knew, just from finally having the money to feed themselves and their families properly. But food tasted like ash in Bitty’s mouth anymore. The bakery had invited him back to finish his apprenticeship, but it wasn't as if Bitty needed the money. He'd turned them down and hidden himself away in his new house in the Victors’ Village, only emerging when Chowder or Shitty forced him to. 

“Yes,” Ransom said with a small, sad smile. “Though I'm not sure I can top last year.” 

Bitty snorted. “‘Course you can. You'll be designing for One in no time.” 

Ransom shuddered. “And deal with those Careers? Chyeah right.” 

Bitty chuckled. “Well, at least you wouldn't have to worry about getting attached.” 

At that, Ransom’s face fell. They both paused, the memory of Jenny lingering between them, the faceless ghosts of the tributes from Twelve Ransom had styled. Bitty ducked his head, guilt pooling in his stomach. 

“I like getting attached,” Ransom said softly, squeezing Bitty’s shoulder. “I have to. It reminds me that these games are real and cruel and- well.”

“Did you know Holster?” Bitty asked, voice quiet. “When he was a tribute?” 

Ransom shook his head, jaw clenching. He busied himself with his makeup brushes, selecting the few he’d use on Bitty. “No. I mean, I  _ noticed _ him. He- I was only sixteen when he was reaped.”

_ Only sixteen _ . Sometimes Bitty forgot Ransom was from the Capitol, given his compassion. At sixteen, Bitty had already survived four reapings and was working at the bakery, luckier than most in Nine to have that privilege. At sixteen, Shitty had barely outlived 23 other tributes, nearly freezing to death alone in the arena. At sixteen, Lardo had already spent three years trying to forget the blood on her hands.

“He...he’s the sweetheart of the Capitol, you know?” Ransom continued, not meeting Bitty’s eyes. “I knew who he was long before I became a Stylist.”

And Bitty had heard the rumors, knew what Ransom meant. A night with Holster of District Four was coveted among the Capitol elite, and all it cost was a secret. Bitty wondered, just for a moment, how many secrets Ransom had to give. 

“It’s not like that, though,” Ransom said, as if he could read Bitty’s thoughts. “I never- I mean. It’s different for us.” 

Bitty wondered if that was true, or if Ransom had just never realized what secrets he’d given up to pay for so many nights in Holster’s arms. But Bitty had seen them together, seen the way Holster looked at Ransom. There was that same tenderness in his gazes that Bitty had seen when Chowder and Caitlin were together, or when Jack had kissed him that night in the cave-

“How often does he come to the Capitol?” Bitty asked. He knew plenty of Victors, especially those from the wealthier districts, often visited outside of the Games or Victory Tour seasons. But his only real frame of reference was Shitty and Lardo, and they were both loath to step foot on Capitol soil if they didn’t have to. 

“Every couple of months or so,” Ransom said, a wistful edge to his voice. “The President took a liking to him pretty early on. He- he’s the reason Holster...does what he does. It keeps the Sponsors happy, having their  _ sweetheart  _ around.” He spat out the words like poison on his tongue. “He has an apartment downtown, in the Victors quadrant.” 

It wasn’t encouraged in the lesser districts, but Victors  _ were _ allowed to live in the Capitol, should they desire to. Nobody from Nine ever did, to Bitty’s knowledge. In both distance and in culture, it was just too far from home. 

“Okay, so I’m thinking wine red for this suit,” Ransom said, clapping his hands together. He gave Bitty a forced smile, signalling that their conversation was over. “It goes well with your complexion.” 

“Okay,” Bitty said. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had wine.” 

“What?” Ransom raised an eyebrow at him, handing the silky material to tortoise-shell woman. “Never?” 

Bitty shrugged. “With the exception of Lardo’s cabinet of high-end, Capitol liquor, the only alcohol in Nine is beer and ‘shine. And technically the ‘shine is illegal.”

“You need to try the wine tomorrow night,” Ransom said, holding up several palettes of colored creams and powders to Bitty’s face. “Holster says that it’s a lot less overwhelming than the other Capitol drinks, if you want to ease your way into that sort of thing.” 

Bitty pursed his lips. “I don’t...I don’t think I enjoy drinking very much. Lardo says it helps her forget...but I don’t think I want to forget.”

The look Ransom gave him was heartbreaking. It had been six months since the games and Bitty still felt...numb. He wasn’t supposed to be alive. Jack wasn’t supposed to be dead. 

“How’s Chowder?” Ransom asked, gently taking Bitty’s wrist to test swatches of gold creams. They glittered on Bitty’s skin like pearls, opalescent and stunning. Bitty knew Ransom mixed them himself. His parents were Capitol scientists, had taught him so much about chemistry and biology that Bitty couldn’t even fathom. One of the creams rippled through reds then oranges then purples as it was warmed by the blood under Bitty’s skin. Ransom was the smartest person Bitty had ever met. 

“He’s good,” Bitty said, still watching the creams glimmer in the light. “He and Caitlin are betrothed, though it’s customary in Nine to wait until after their last reaping to get married.” 

Ransom gave Bitty a funny look, but schooled his features as he pointed to the swatch closest to Bitty’s elbow. “I think this one goes best with the fabric, don’t you think?” 

Bitty nodded and hummed. It was a simpler, rose-gold color, closer to a liquid than a cream in consistency. Ransom set the corresponding bottle aside and packed the others away, then started wiping the swatches from Bitty’s arm. “How old are they? Chowder and Caitlin?” 

“Sixteen,” Bitty said. Only three more reapings. Surely they could survive three more.

Ransom made a vague noise. “That seems pretty young to be betrothed.” 

“In the Capitol, maybe,” Bitty said, clenching his fists. “Life expectancy isn’t quite so high in Nine. We start everything a little earlier there. Working, fucking, dying.” 

Ransom, to his credit, looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- my grandmother was from Eleven, you know.” 

“Really?” Inter-district immigration was difficult enough - downright impossible unless you had Capitol connections - but even as a Victor completely integrating yourself into the Capitol wasn’t encouraged or common. 

“She was a Victor, too,” he said. “She fell in love with an engineer, here, and they got married. I visited Eleven, once, with her right before she died. It...it was a lot.” 

Bitty didn’t know much about Eleven outside of his ancient schoolbooks and clips from reapings, but he remembered the Tributes from Eleven, how thin and ragged they looked. They reminded him of Chowder before he was old enough to help support his family, when Bitty was sneaking out his own dinners every night to share so he wouldn’t lose his best friend to starvation. 

“Is that why you became a stylist?” Bitty asked quietly. Ransom’s face softened and he gave Bitty a small smile. 

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I...there’s not a lot of ways to help out the districts. I looked into it once, there’s no way to, like, donate food or clothes. The Capitol doesn’t  _ want _ us to help. It’s the quickest road to revolution, really. The citizens here aren’t evil, just...oblivious. Content. If it’s not in front of them then it’s not happening, that sort of mentality. If I can change the way they see just one tribute-” He cast a pointed look at Bitty. “-then maybe I can help change the way things are around here.”

Bitty sighed. “That's a dangerous thing to do, Rans. If the Capitol catches on-” 

Ransom gripped both of his shoulders and gave him a long, intense look. “In Panem, doing the right thing is often dangerous. But somebody has to.” 

Bitty pulled Ransom in for a tight hug, tucking his face against Ransom’s shoulder. “You're a lot braver than me,” he whispered. “I don't know if I could do that.” 

Ransom pulled back, frowning. “You volunteered for Chowder. You nearly  _ died _ to save your friend. And you were willing to die for Jack.” 

Bitty shrugged, throat tight. “But that wasn't...it didn't change anything and I didn't intend for it to. I volunteered into the Capitol’s games to spare one person. I killed so many others to survive. And now I'm just another Victor. If I was in your position, a Capitol citizen...I wouldn't be brave enough to try and help the Districts. Not if it meant going up against the most powerful forces in Panem.” 

“Bitty,” Ransom said, eyes soft. “You're the bravest person I've ever met.” 

“Thanks,” Bitty whispered. “But I just don’t think that’s true.” 

“It is,” Ransom said matter-of-factly. “Now, let’s talk shoes.” 

 

* * *

 

Plenty of Victors wore black, once their time in the spotlight passed. Lardo had made the color hers the first year she was a mentor, the first year she had to send two tributes to their deaths. Georgia Martin, of District One, was in a crisp, black dress nearby, chatting with some older Capitol gentlemen. The Zimmermanns were also both in all-black, faces drawn and lined as they talked quietly with Shitty by the food table.  

But somehow Kent Parson stood out in his black suit, blonde hair slicked back, eyes lined in a muted, powder blue. Unlike the other Careers at the party, Kent didn't seem to be enjoying the food and company. He scowled at every person who looked his way, knuckles white as he gripped his glass. 

Kent had surprised him, when Bitty had met him at the beginning of his Victory tour. Bitty had said some words, scripted and bland, in front of the entire district, who’d greeted him like a hero returning from war. Bob and Alicia Zimmermann had been kind to him, shaking his hand like he hadn’t watched their son die in the arena. Bitty felt numb, exchanging condolences with them. 

Then he’d shaken hands with Kent, the last Victor from One, and been surprised by the anger and pain he saw in those eyes - were they blue? It was hard to tell. Kent said nothing to him, no congratulations, no greeting. He just shook Bitty’s hand, one terse, rough shake, and then he was gone, letting the next person greet Bitty. That meeting had stuck with Bitty throughout the rest of his tour, the grief of a Career haunting him when he closed his eyes. 

Guilt pooled in Bitty’s gut as he watched Kent now, across the room. Bitty knew he shouldn’t feel guilty, knew that Kent had killed so many more people, had wanted the same for Jack. But he couldn’t help but feel responsible for Kent’s pain. 

Then Kent was walking across the room towards him, their gazes meeting. Drink in hand, Kent Parson sidled up to Bitty and nodded his head in greeting.   
“Eric, right?” Kent asked, looking Bitty up and down with sharp, searching eyes. 

“Please, Mr. Parson, call me Bitty,” Bitty said, fingers tightening around the stem of his wine glass. 

Kent raised an eyebrow. “We’re the same age.”

Bitty shrugged. “Well, in District Nine we have  _ manners _ . I know it’s not something commonly taught in One, but surely you’ll catch on quick.” 

To his surprise, Kent laughed, short and sharp. “Are you chirping me?”

“Maybe,” Bitty said, a bit haughtily. “But I’ve met plenty of you Careers, and I have to say - no manners.” 

Kent laughed again, a bit darker. “Yeah, they’re not the most useful in the arena.”

“And now?” Bitty asked, taking a sip of his wine. It was a little more bitter than he’d expected - grapes were supposed to be  _ sweet _ \- but it made him feel warm and a little daring. 

Kent smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. “No one likes a  _ nice _ Career. It's boring.” 

The lights of the room reflected off of the dark wine in Bitty’s glass, off the uncertain color of Kent Parson’s eyes. “Of course not. What kind of show would that be?” 

“You're a lot sharper than they led me to believe,” Kent said, taking a sip of his own drink. It was alien to Bitty, unnatural in color and consistency. Very, very Capitol. 

Bitty shrugged. “I'm from an outer district. They don't want me to be smart or angry.”

“Just pretty?” Kent asked, and  _ there-  _ the smirk finally reached his eyes, now more green than blue. Bitty didn't like them when they were blue. 

“Oh. Um.” He could feel himself blushing as the complement registered. “I mean.” 

“Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes?” 

Bitty looked up into the smiling face of Bob Zimmermann. He seemed relaxed at this party in a way Bitty knew he'd never feel. Alicia seemed less comfortable, her face as icy as her eyes - Jack’s eyes. 

“Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said shakily. “Mrs. Zimmermann. It's wonderful to see you both again.” 

It had been a while since he'd last met with them, at his Victory ceremony in One. Bob seemed less grief-stricken than he had then; Alicia seemed moreso, her face drawn and gaunt. Still, she was stunning in her black dress, as plain as it seemed among the Capitol fashions. 

“Eric,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. “You look stunning.”

“O-oh!” Bitty gaped at her, a little taken aback. “Oh, goodness, thank you, ma'am, but I'm not- I mean- well, look at  _ you _ . You must be the most beautiful woman in the whole of the Capitol.” 

Kent was giving him an odd look but Bob simply laughed. “Trying to whisk my wife off to District Nine with you?” 

Alicia smiled at Bitty. “That's very kind of you, but I have to insist, you really are the shining star of the party tonight.” 

“Oh, gosh.” Bitty bit his lip, knowing that his cheeks must be bright pink. “Thank you, ma'am.” 

Ransom  _ had _ dressed him to the nines, since this was technically a celebration of the end of his victory tour. His suit was a beautiful wine-red, his hair coiffed neatly, and his cheeks speckled with freckles of gold cream. 

“We’ll let you boys continue enjoying the party,” Bob said, winking at them. “Don’t let us old-timers cramp your style. Kent, let’s talk later.” 

“O-oh, okay,” Kent said, a little taken aback. 

“We’ll see you again soon, Eric,” Alicia said, patting his cheek. “Enjoy the party, boys.” 

And then Bob and Alicia were off again, circulating the room. People were drawn to them like pins to a magnet, and Bitty was in awe of their grace and composure. 

“Why are they so kind to me?” Bitty asked, hands shaking. Wine sloshed to the floor and Kent gently took his glass, setting it on a windowsill. “I killed their son.” 

“Zimms killed himself,” Kent said, soft but sharp. “You were begging him to kill you, and he killed himself instead. Can't say  _ why.”  _ He gave Bitty a dark look. “In his position, I probably would've killed you.”

“You  _ are _ a Victor, after all,” Bitty said coolly. 

“So are you,” Kent bit back, eyes narrowing. “All of Panem saw you kill those Careers - with a poisoned pie in the dead of night. That was a dirty move.” 

“Jack wasn’t a Victor,” Bitty whispered, aware of how close he was to Kent. He could feel Kent’s breath on his face, see the circles and lines under his eyes. “He was good.”

The anger seemed to dissipate from Kent’s body, the harsh edges softening, slumping in defeat. Kent looked like Bitty felt - tired, traumatized, and carrying the weight of Victor’s guilt on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, he was.” Kent took a long swig of his drink, eyes squeezed shut. Bitty thought he might be holding back tears. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispered. "It was supposed to be me and Zimms, the glory of winning, going down in history together-" 

"For murdering children? Yeah, sounds like the dream," Bitty spat, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"You think I don't know that now?" Kent snapped. "You think I didn't realize that the minute I stepped into that arena? The minute I stabbed that boy from eleven in the heart and he didn't get back up? I'm a monster, I know that, and Zimms knew that, too." Kent's face darkened. "He was supposed to stay alive. I told him when he was reaped that he had to do whatever it took to win. He thought I meant so he could be like me." Kent shook his head. "I just wanted him alive." 

Bitty could feel a lump forming in his throat. “Yeah,” he murmured, ducking his head. “Me too.” 

To his surprise, Kent began to laugh, soft and sad. He tucked his finger under Bitty’s chin and gently tilted his head up. “Shit, we’re a fucked up pair. If only Jack could see us now, huh?” 

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Parson,” Bitty said primly, but without any heat. This only made Kent laugh harder. 

"I see why Jack liked you," he said, pulling away and bringing his cup to his lips. The drink in it was a shimmering silver color, thick and syrupy. The sugary scent of it turned Bitty's stomach, but his mouth dried as he watched a stray drop roll down Kent's chin. Before he could stop himself, Bitty reached out to wipe the liquid away, thumb brushing against Kent's lip. 

Bitty surged upward, though Kent wasn’t nearly as tall as Jack had been. The drink tasted like strawberries and cream on Kent's tongue, artificial and saccharine. But Kent's mouth was hot and wet and Bitty was buzzing with pent up anger and grief and something else, something more primal. He tugged at Kent's hair, pulling strands from their slicked coif, scratching his nails down the back of Kent's neck. 

Part of him wanted to kill Kent. The other part wanted to cry against his neck and never let go. 

"There are, uh, rooms," Kent whispered, breaking from the kiss. Bitty nodded, forehead pressed to Kent's temple, and then nipped along his jawline, dragging his teeth across Kent's pulse point. “Back behind the bathrooms. Beds n’ shit.” 

Bitty was too far gone to roll his eyes, but he did manage to huff in disgust. “These Capitol bigwigs indulge like wild animals, don’t they?” 

Kent raised an eyebrow. “So are you saying you  _ don’t _ want to-”

Bitty grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the back rooms. “Not what I said.” 

The first two rooms they tried were occupied by an uncomfortable number of people. (“I knew...so many of them,” Kent murmured in shock. “Fuck, I didn’t need to see that.”) Third time was the charm, however, and Kent was pushing Bitty through the door and onto the large, ridiculously opulent bed.  Bitty stripped off the jacket of his beautifully tailored suit and folded it neatly, setting it on the ground where it wouldn’t get rumpled. Kent tossed his own jacket in the corner, his eyes - which seemed darker now, almost brown - staring intensely at Bitty, like a cat eyeing a bowl of cream. 

“You know,” he murmured, pushing Bitty further up the bed so he could crawl up next to him. “They showed almost everything that happened in the cave, with you and Zimms.” 

Bitty chewed on his lip, unsure of where this was leading. “Even...even our last night?” 

“Mhmm.” Kent sucked at the point just below Bitty’s jaw, hands sliding up under Bitty’s shirt. “They cut out just before it got heated, but we could all see where it was going. I knew that look on Zimms’ face.” 

Bitty struggled with the buttons on Kent’s shirt, making soft little whines as Kent sucked and nipped down his neck. “H-he was my first,” he admitted, a little shyly. “I haven’t- with anyone but him.” 

Kent looked down at him sadly, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “Yeah...yeah, me too.” 

Bitty surged up to kiss him, ripping the shirt open as fast as he could without popping the buttons. Kent shed it and tossed it across the room, taking a moment to soak in the sight of Bitty: his rumpled clothes, his wide eyes, his wine-stained lips. 

There were many things he wanted to say, so instead Kent said, “You're wearing too many clothes.” 

Bitty was out of his shirt in seconds, not bothering to fold it like the jacket, and quickly after had tossed his pants to the ground, baring himself for Kent. 

Sitting in his underwear, half-hard and so close to crying, Bitty felt vulnerable in a way he hadn't allowed himself in so long. Kent was dangerous, a Career, a killer, but this wasn't an arena...and Bitty was a killer, too. 

Kent hovered over Bitty, pressing kisses down his collarbone, then chest. Bitty whined as he pulled away, rummaging through one of the bedside tables.

In his hands he had a little bottle and a square of silver foil. Bitty looked at them in confusion. “What’s all that?” 

Kent raised an eyebrow. “Lube and a condom- wait, do they not  _ have _ these in Nine?” 

Bitty shook his head. “I mean, we have condoms, but they don’t look like that. We make ‘em out of cloth, if we can, or rubber, when we can afford it. Sheep guts, sometimes. I hear those are the best.”

Kent looked horrified, then went back to the dresser to grab a handful. He threw them down on Bitty’s jacket. “Take those with you. So much safer than  _ sheep guts _ .” 

Bitty laughed. “Alright, if you say so.” 

Kent still looked a bit taken aback as he shed the rest of his clothes, but relaxed when Bitty pulled him in for a kiss. With a smirk, Kent rolled his hips, grinding against Bitty at a torturously slow pace. Bitty tilted his head back against the bed and keened, jerking his hips up when Kent moved away. 

“C- Come back here,” he grunted, grabbing at Kent’s shoulder to yank him closer. Kent grinded against him again, and they kissed sloppily, all teeth and tongues. Bitty shifted his hips and cried out as the friction between them increased. He dug his nails into Kent’s back; Kent sank his teeth into Bitty’s shoulder. It was an intense moment, all heat and ragged breathing as they dry-humped on the bed. 

Then Kent was sitting back, pulling Bitty’s briefs off and throwing them to floor, his own following soon after. Bitty sat up, no longer feeling vulnerable but hungry, desperate for contact again. 

“How do you want me,” he asked, voice low. Kent visibly shudder and crawled over to push Bitty onto his hands and knees. “Like this,” Kent grunted. Bitty could hear the crinkle of the condom wrapper and then moments later the pop of the lube bottle’s cap. 

Kent leaned over to suck at the spot behind Bitty’s ear. “Can I- between your thighs?” He asked, voice rough. Bitty nodded, and Kent slicked up Bitty’s thighs with lube, rubbing softly at the juncture between Bitty’s leg and groin. Bitty moaned. “Squeeze your legs together.” 

Bitty did, and behind him he could hear Kent squirt some lube onto his hand. There was a pause, then Kent’s dick was pressing in between his thighs and  _ oh _ -

Kent’s dick, hot and slick, brushed along his perineum, up against his ass and nudging his balls. Bitty gasped, the feeling so foreign yet so...good. 

“Oh, gosh,” he murmured, arching in spine like a cat. “Mm, yeah. Harder.” 

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Kent said, one hand cupping Bitty’s ass, the other holding onto his waist. His next few thrusts were harder, but he kept the pace slow, fucking Bitty’s thighs like he had all the time in the world. 

The tip of his cock nudges up against Bitty’s scrotum with every thrust forward, and Bitty pushed back, trying to quicken the movements, desperate for more contact. “Harder, faster.” 

“Fuck,” Kent said, and he sped up his pace, thrusting between Bitty’s thighs desperately. His skin hit Bitty’s with a sharp, sloppy slap again and again. Heat pooled in Bitty’s stomach, his cock rock-hard as it bobbed with every movement. 

Bitty reached back and grabbed Kent by the hair, pulling his chest flush against Bitty’s back as they moved together. Kent gasped and whined, half-heartedly kissing and biting at Bitty’s shoulder blades, along his spine. 

“Fuck, Eric,” he breathed out, grip so tight on Bitty’s hips he was certain they would bruise. “I-I’m so- I’m close. I’m gonna-  _ ah! _ ” 

Kent fucked through his orgasm, body shaking and slowing as he came. Bitty felt dizzy with arousal, impatient as Kent came down. He took himself in hand, stroking a few times, but then Kent was flipping him over onto his back. 

With a hungry look, Kent grabbed a handful of Bitty’s hair and tugged him into a sloppy kiss. Bitty bit at his lips, a bit harder than intended, and Kent moaned. “Fuck,” he hissed, pulling back. “You can-  _ fuck _ . You can fuck my throat- if you want-”

“I won’t last long,” Bitty murmured, licking at a drop of sweat that ran down Kent’s throat. He bit the skin there gently, and Kent whimpered. “Get on your knees.” 

Kent dropped to the ground, looking up at Bitty with wild, gray eyes. He was sweat-drenched and panting, hair messed to hell and mouth half-open, waiting. Bitty rose shakily, thighs slipping together and squelching as he moved, and reached out to touch Kent’s cheek. He had so much power, here, had a power to hurt Kent, to dominate Kent. A small, screaming part of him wanted to, wanted to hit Kent and scratch Kent and force his cock down Kent’s throat and hold him there until he choked. And that scared him, more than anything else in the world.

So instead, Bitty knelt down and kissed Kent, gently, sadly. 

“I won’t last that long,” Bitty reiterated. “Could you- could you touch me?” 

He pretended not to see the tears in Kent’s eyes, pretended there weren't tears in his own. Kent kissed him again, so gentle it made Bitty’s heart ache. 

Wordlessly, Kent took him in hand, stroking just a few times before Bitty was coming, spilling out between them. They were both crying, he realized numbly. Crying, naked on the floor of a Capitol fuck-room, the two boys who’d loved Jack Zimmermann a little too much. 

Kent tucked his head in the crook of Bitty’s neck, body heaving in silent sobs. Bitty kissed his temple absently, over and over again, wiping at his eyes. 

“I hate the Capitol,” Kent said softly, right in Bitty’s ear. “I hate the games. I should’ve just let them kill me in the arena.”

Bitty kissed his cheek, softly, then whispered, “If you’re a monster, I’m a monster.” 

“No.” Kent pulled back, shaking his head. “You didn’t- I volunteered, Eric. I- I trained for this. My whole life. I chose this. You didn’t-” He took Bitty’s face in his hands. “You volunteered to save a friend. I volunteered to win. We’re not the same.” 

Bitty rested their foreheads together. “Neither of us would be killers if it weren’t for the games.”

Kent huffed and looked away. “You don’t know that. I’m not a good person, not like Jack. Not like you.” 

“But you could be,” Bitty whispered, gently wiping at the tears on Kent’s face. “We could be. We could end these games.” 

Kent pulled away, looking at him like he’d grown a second head. “Eric- that’s  _ treason _ . And impossible, we’re just two- we’d get killed just for thinking about it.” 

“Someone recently told me,” Bitty said, an odd sense of calm coming over him. “That, in Panem, doing the right thing is often dangerous. But somebody has to do it.” 

“What could we do?” Kent asked, tracing the bite marks on Bitty’s shoulder with his fingers. “We don’t have an army and you’re talking about another uprising, a revolution-”

“There are twelve districts out there, most of which are  _ not _ the personal lapdogs of the Capitol,” Bitty said. “And there are people within the Capitol who want to help.” He paused, brushing a strand of hair from Kent’s eyes, then whispered, “I don’t know if I can watch any more children die in the arena, or starve to death in Nine. I’d rather die trying to change things than live through another game.” 

“You’re brave,” Kent said, a little surprised. “And stupid.” 

Bitty shrugged. “I could say the same about you.” 

Kent nodded, slowly, then rose. “Let’s get cleaned up. Someone’ll have noticed we were gone. You  _ were _ the star of the evening.” 

Bitty laughed darkly and stood. He wiped off his thighs and stomach with a corner of the bed sheets, then retrieved his pants from the floor. “Even the President is too drunk to notice at this point,” he said, buttoning his fly. “Lardo’ll probably chirp me to hell and back, though.”

Kent pulled on his shirt and tried in vain to smooth out the wrinkles. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

Once dressed, they left together, because Bitty  _ was _ right - no one would be sober enough to really care who hooked up at a Capitol party. Lardo did raise her eyebrows at him when she noticed, but her eyes were glassy and she was listing into Shitty’s side, head resting on his arm, so Bitty knew he wouldn’t be hearing about it until the train ride home. 

“Bits.” Ransom was at his side, handing him a napkin. “Your makeup’s a mess.”

“Thanks,” Bitty said quietly. “It’s um. Dancing?” 

On Ransom’s other side, Holster snorted. “Sure, Bits. Dancing.”

Kent raised an eyebrow at both of them. At first glance, nothing seemed off about them, Holster’s arm slung around Ransom’s neck like two old friends. Then Bitty pieced it together. 

“Ransom, are you wearing Holster’s shirt?” He asked with a grin. Ransom looked down in horror but Holster just laughed. 

“Shit, man, he’s right.” Holster beamed at Ransom, then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “That’s embarrassing. At least Bits and Parse managed to get the right clothes on, even if they both look like they’ve been thoroughly debauched.”

It was Bitty’s turn to look horrified. Kent just laughed and tried to tidy up his hair. “What else are Capitol parties for?” 

“Ransom,” Bitty said evenly, giving him a pointed look. Ransom laughed and nodded in sympathy. 

“Sorry, gentlemen, but duty calls. C’mon, Bits, I left my kit in the coat room.” Ransom slipped out of Holster’s grip to lead Bitty away. “Don’t get into trouble without us.” 

Ransom waited until they were in the powder room before he asked, “So, Kent Parson?” 

Bitty groaned, unable to escape as Ransom was reapplying his golden freckles, a little sloppy now that he was several drinks in. “Yeah, Kent Parson.” 

Ransom smiled at him sadly, then began to clean up his eyeliner where it had smudged. “Just be careful, Bits. If you’re an echohare, then Parse is a snake.”

Bitty frowned. “No, he’s not. He’s...a cat.” 

Ransom did not look convinced. “Cats have claws. Just...guard your heart, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt again.” 

“Thanks, Rans,” Bitty murmured, stifling a yawn. “Ugh, how much longer until I can go back to the rooms?” 

“Soon, I promise,” Ransom said, using a small comb to reorganize Bitty’s hair. “Tomorrow you can sleep all the way back to Nine.”

It had been so long since he’d been in Nine. Bitty missed Chowder and Caitlin, missed his mother, missed the golden fields and silver silos. Feeling small and sad, Bitty wrapped his arms around Ransom and hugged him tight. “Thank you for being here with me.”

After a shocked pause, Ransom hugged him back. “Yeah, dude, always. Got your back.” Then, he added quietly, “There’s no one else I would want to stand by.” 

Bitty huffed a laugh. “Gosh, stop, I’m gonna mess up my makeup again.” 

Ransom grinned at him and pulled away to pack up his kit. “What’ll you do without me when you’re mentoring, Bits? Let  _ Lardo and Shitty _ dress you?” 

Bitty gasped, affronted. “I’ll have you know I am  _ perfectly capable of dressing myself- _ ”

They bickered all the way back to the coat room, Bitty eventually having to promise not to let Shitty anywhere near his wardrobe. As they were heading back to the party, however, Bitty stopped, a thought occurring to him. “How did you know I was thinking of mentoring? I haven’t even brought it up with Shitty and Lardo yet.” 

Ransom gave him the saddest, kindest smile. “Bits, you’re  _ you _ . Helping people’s in your nature. And that includes helping Shitty and Lardo - whichever of them you’ll be offering to replace.” 

Bitty looked down, scuffing his shoe against the carpet. “I want to replace Lardo, but I know she’ll say no. So I’m gonna offer to replace Shitty this year, let him have a rest.” 

“I don’t think she’ll stop mentoring,” Ransom said softly. “Until she saves the same number of kids that she killed.”

“Probably more,” Bitty agreed, feeling his throat growing tight. “Every kid she couldn’t save.”

“You know you don’t have to mentor right away,” Ransom said, gripping Bitty’s shoulder. “You’re allowed a year - even Lardo took a year.”

“I can’t-” Bitty took a deep breath, willing back his tears. “I can’t just sit in Nine and watch the games. I have to help. In whatever way I can.” 

“Then come to the Capitol,” Ransom said. “Lots of Victors do. You can crash at my place, help me plan my designs. Help me reach out to the citizens of the Capitol.”

“Really?” Bitty was surprised by the offer. “I won’t get in the way?” 

“Never, Bits.” Ransom brushed his fingers over the Echohare pin on Bitty’s lapel. “I could use your insights.” 

“Okay,” Bitty murmured. “I’m still gonna talk to Shitty about mentoring, but- I’d like that.” 

Ransom smiled at him and leaned down to press a soft kiss to the crown of Bitty’s head. “Good. Now, c’mon. Holster’s probably trying to make Parse wet himself.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Careers.” 

When they rejoined the party, Holster was chatting with Shitty and Lardo. Kent, Bitty noticed, was deep in conversation with Bob Zimmermann. He frowned and nodded at whatever Bob was saying, hands shoved in his pockets. For a brief second he caught Bitty’s eye across the room, smiled slightly, then turned back to Bob. Bitty sighed and followed Ransom to join the others. A few minutes later, Bob and Kent left the room, followed shortly by Alicia and Georgia Martin. Bitty found he was a little upset Kent didn’t say goodbye. 

“Hey, Bits,” Lardo said, tugging on his sleeve. “We’re headed out. You coming?” 

Bitty nodded, grateful to leave. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

Their group filed from the party, followed by the District Nine escort, Alexei, who took Bitty, Shitty, and Lardo back to their rooms in the Victor’s Quadrant. Holster, he noticed, followed Ransom as they parted ways. Sadly, Bitty wondered how many other rooms Holster would have to visit that night. He cast the thought from his mind, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Kent showed up at the train station just before Bitty boarded. In the morning light he looked cool and collected, hair artfully disheveled. 

“I spoke with Bob last night,” he said casually, hands in his pockets. “He, uh. He agrees with us.” 

Bitty raised an eyebrow. “Agrees with us?” 

Kent shrugged, looking down at his feet. “That we, uh. That we could be brave.”

“Oh.” Bitty smiled softly, touching Kent’s arm. “That’s good to hear.” 

“You’ll be in the Capitol for the games this year, right?” Kent asked. Bitty nodded. 

“Yes, even if Shitty won’t let me mentor. Rans has invited me to stay in his apartment.” 

“Good.” Kent nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. “He, uh. He’ll be in touch.  _ We’ll _ be in touch.” 

“Good,” Bitty parroted. “I look forward to it.” 

“Bits!” Lardo shouted. “Get your butt on this train or I’m leaving you here!” 

“Stay safe,” Kent said, extending his hand. “I’ll see you around.” 

Bitty shook it and nodded. “See you, Kent Parson.” 

As he climbed up the steps to the train, Bitty saw Ransom and Holster waving goodbye, then Bob and Alicia Zimmermann, then - surprisingly - Georgia Martin. He felt a strange lurching in his stomach, and it was just from the train beginning to move. 

Maybe he  _ was _ outnumbered. Maybe this fight would kill him before it even started. Maybe Bitty would die for nothing. But looking out at the platform, with all these friends and allies bidding him farewell, Bitty thought maybe – just maybe – he could change something, be it a few minds or the entire world.

On the horizon, the sun was beginning to rise. 

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know what this is. Wanted it to be smut. Turned into world-building sort of?? idk man
> 
> I might ship Bitty and Ransom now. I did not intend for this to happen.


End file.
